Pockets of sunshine.

Once you look into the abyss. 

How could you look back with any sympathy? 

Once you see the deep, dark caverns of man's conscious mind. How would you then see his plight and think it undeserved.

The rain comes from the sky. 

Cement never smelled so sweet.  

 

The upright daisy

The flower birthed from the sky, 

harmonious, symbolic.

loquacious . 

In tones of yellow and green. 

Persephone's cursed fruit.  

Consumed without a second thought. 

Doom brought upon the winter. 

Darkness set for many years to come.

No one else to blame.  

The semblance of bees

The flickering lights of an august morning. Turquoise spirits rise from the still bog. The first rite of passage for new egos.  

The golden circus passes today. 

The final show will feature a baron and a bee keeper. 

Dictator, fascist, captain and pope. 

The semblance to bees is uncanny.

 That rigorous dance. 

That expectant glance. 

The last song of summer. 

The ode to joy. 

The drum snare on an entire era. 

Soft whispers.

Passion on the gates of september. 

A towering courage vanishes at midnight's passing. 

The simple and childish stupor of a great lost god pretends to divine an answer. 

She whispers to me with a soft and stifled breathe. "Should the storm come, the journey of masks will protect you."  

I break and the thunderous loquacity of greek deities pray for my safe departure.

Cabin gods, slithered jesters, and the stem of a pyramid. 

The night grew cold. 

And her warm heart still dripping in my hand.   

Wing it. (Who gives a fuck anyway!)

Which way is up? 

Again the spade is a spade. 

Walled up in an ash filled room. 

Broken, warped, unplayable. 

The record set. 

Expectation is high. 

High above this god damned skyscraper. 

Once upon a time 

The setting was a park in a village. 

Trees trimmed.

Paths cleaned. 

The chilled smell of foliage in the early morning. 

Sun rise; immanent. 

Now I see it. 

Bodies of water. 

Shallow. 

Peeks and valleys.

Smooth. 

The rocky hide of stubborn earth

The careless surface of a timid planet.

No ocean is truly deep. 

No mountain truly high. 

The Fall; immanent. . 

The setting is that stubborn stone.

That careless surface.  

The greatest leap. 

Faith and blurred vision.

 

Sometimes you die. 

Other times you wake up. 

 

Shoebox

How must it feel..

The cast upon your broken wing?

That shelter in a shoe box. 

How must it feel to know..

That there is space beyond a sanctuary. 

Where lay other broken things 

Unmended. 

Do you dream of flying?

Of falling?

Wake up